And Every Moment After
by S.E. Mellark
Summary: Maybe it was that twin thing again, forcing Matthew to understand even without words that the brother he'd been longing to see again was forever out of his reach.


_Author's Note: _Twenty pages of pure angst that made me cry literally every ten minutes. I guess I wrote this to cope with some stuff in my own way? Idk. I feel bad for this, but I'm also pretty damn proud of it. _**Please **_do not read this if what is in the warnings triggers you in any way! I know these are all serious issues, and I'm not trying to demean them in any way. I've dealt with some of it myself before.

Edit: I'm very certain I uploaded this at least a month ago. Either Fanfiction ate it or I'm losing my mind. Either way, I'll just upload it again.

**Warnings: Suicide, mentions of self-harm, lots and lots of angst**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and I most likely never will._

* * *

When they were ten years old, Alfred and Matthew's parents divorced.

Up until that specific point in their lives, the boys were inseparable. They did everything together and acted as a single unit, took all the jokes about twins in stride because to some degree, they were right.

The announcement was explosive. Their parents gave the boys the option to choose whom they wanted to live with, but the calm discussion quickly turned into a slew of name-calling and accusations laced with vitriol. In that moment, without even consulting one another, the brothers made their own assumptions and decisions.

When the fight came to a head and their father left the house in a fit of explosive rage, Alfred ran after him. Matthew vividly recalls watching his twin's back disappear out the door right before his mother slammed it shut, sliding the lock in place as she wrote off her husband and the son who – in her rage-clouded mind – had chosen to abandon her.

In the weeks, months, and years following, Matthew's mother realized her mistake, but by then, it was already too late. Alfred had probably grown up remembering the sound of that door slamming shut and never once tried to contact either of them. Matthew lashed out in his own way, embracing the random move to Canada and asking to take his stepfather's last name when his mother remarried two years after the divorce was finalized.

Alfred didn't attend the wedding. He probably hadn't even known about it, despite their mother's attempts to include him.

As he grew up, Matthew inevitably matured and realized that everything had been blown profusely out of proportion. Their parents had reacted immaturely to the separation, sucking their young sons into the drama and practically forcing them to take sides, driving a wedge between two people who had at one point never wanted to leave the other's company for even a moment.

But even then, he held on to ancient feelings of betrayal and didn't reach out to the other half of his family. He made friends to take Alfred's place, and as years wore on the dull ache brought on by his brother's absence lessened considerably, though there were times when Matthew wished things could have been different.

Those feelings intensified tenfold when he came home from school to silence broken only by the occasional muffled sob, and Matthew followed the sounds to the kitchen to find his mother and stepfather on the tiled floor, Caroline curled up in her husband's lap, completely unreachable, while Jordan rubbed her back.

There was a broken glass that had once been filled with milk on the floor beside them, the telephone dangling by its cord near the wall, the dial tone droning quietly, and when Jordan's apologetic gaze met Matthew's, somehow the teenager knew what had happened.

Maybe it was that twin thing again, forcing Matthew to understand even without words that the brother he'd been longing to see again was forever out of his reach.

* * *

He went to his father for the first time in years. Caroline had insisted on accompanying him, leaving Jordan behind to take care of things at home while mother and son traveled to Minnesota, where Alfred and their father had fled after leaving Illinois. His dad had family there, if Matthew remembered correctly. Matthew was somewhat relieved that his stepfather had opted to stay behind. He was a good man, but Matthew didn't want to see him pretend to understand how devastating everything was when he'd never even met Alfred.

The teenager didn't remember much about Robert Jones, only knew that once upon a time he had decided to not take his dad's side for whatever reason. Matthew wasn't sure what to expect when he and his mother arrived at the house where Alfred had lived, grown up, decided to end it all, but when his dad opened the door, took one look at him and enveloped Matthew in a bone-crushing hug, somehow Matthew wasn't surprised.

No one seemed to know what had happened. Even their dad, who had been with Al since his birth, couldn't discern why his son did what he did. Robert told them that he came home from work to find the bathroom door shut and locked, running water the only sound to be heard, and when he finally managed to bust it down, nearly twenty minutes later, Alfred was in the bathtub.

The coroner managed to conclude that Alfred Foster Jones had drowned in his bathtub, unable to keep his head above water when he lost consciousness due to excessive blood loss. The devastation painted across his dad's face was clear to Matthew, though it all disappeared in a violent moment of complete self-loathing when it also became known that Alfred had still been alive and conscious when Robert came home.

Alfred had heard his father enter the house, heard him walk up the stairs, try the doorknob only to find it locked, and even when the desperate shouting started he hadn't stopped to rethink his decision, only focused more thoroughly on the task at hand, never ceased his blade's movements.

At the funeral, his parents decided together to keep the casket open, though Matthew could still see the slash marks on his brother's arms even through the fabric of his clothing. It was horrific, something Matthew never thought he'd have to do, to attend a funeral and slowly realize that everyone present looked at him with a mixture of surprise and bitter regret because he looked exactly like the deceased.

Apparently no one had known that Alfred had a brother, let alone an identical twin, and Matthew felt awful for forcing everyone in attendance to face what they had lost, even though Alfred's casket was open for everyone to see.

Matthew recalls sitting at his mother's side, holding her hand as she cried and looking up only when he noticed that someone was approaching Alfred's coffin. The air seemed ten times as tense, the whispers all but stopped, and Matthew's dad lifted a hand to his face, as if he couldn't bear to watch.

But Matthew did. He observed, perplexed, as a man that didn't look that much older than Matthew's eighteen years stood quietly beside Alfred's body, just staring at the peaceful look on Al's pale face. Matthew couldn't discern the man's features very well, could only see that he was blond and fairly tall, but whoever he was, he had obviously been close with Alfred.

His posture looked miserable, and Matthew could have sworn he saw a tear before the blond-haired stranger turned his head slightly, obscuring anything else from Matthew's view. A few seconds later, he turned away from the coffin and made his way back to his seat, though Matthew did manage to catch a glimpse of green eyes that seemed to scream silently for help.

* * *

Even after Al was safely in the ground, Matthew chose to stay, waving his mother goodbye at the airport as she boarded a plane back to Canada. In the beginning, Matthew thought he was staying for his dad's benefit, who couldn't go an hour without bursting into tears even two weeks after Alfred's funeral; but eventually, Matthew realized he refused to go back home because he didn't understand.

The Alfred he'd known as a child would never have chosen to end his own life no matter how hard things became. He was always good at that, smiling through every situation and forcing Matthew to be optimistic even if he didn't really want to be. Al had wanted to be a hero, and while Matthew had once found it annoying, he desperately missed his brother's overconfidence in himself.

Something had to have happened to completely snuff out the positive light within Al, and until he understood his brother and the life he'd lived without them, Matthew wasn't going anywhere.

Matthew stayed in his brother's old bedroom, rifling through his things whenever Robert wasn't around to notice; but even then, Matthew didn't find much to explain why his brother killed himself. All he managed to uncover were a few unsavory report cards, empty cartons of cigarettes, and a box underneath Alfred's bed that only opened with a key that Matthew couldn't locate.

He was completely at a loss. Neighbors and some of Alfred's friends from school came over at least once a week for a long while, though Matthew barely spoke with any of them, only asked his dad questions once the visitors left for the day.

"That guy at Al's funeral." Matthew said one night while his father was reheating a tray of lasagna that Alfred's math teacher had brought over. "The one with the blond hair and green eyes. Who was he?"

He'd been genuinely curious. Matthew watched all the visitors leave the house from Alfred's window, and he'd never once seen that man from the funeral. He'd looked older than Al's other friends, not as round in the face or as juvenile in demeanor. Matthew jumped slightly in his seat when Robert slammed the microwave shut, perhaps unintentionally from the apologetic glance he sent Matthew's way afterward.

"Arthur Kirkland." Robert said, and Matthew remembered seeing that name in Al's handwriting on some papers shoved far back into his desk. "He is – _was, _your brother's boyfriend. They met in summer school when Al was a freshman and Arthur was a sophomore."

Too shocked to say much else, Matthew said, "Al had to go to summer school?"

His dad gave him a long look before turning back to the microwave, confirming Matthew's growing fear that he knew absolutely nothing about the person his brother had become.

He took a longer look at those papers, found that they were notes presumably passed back and forth between his brother and Arthur while they were still in school together. Matthew skimmed over mostly everything, somewhat terrified that he'd come across something he _really _didn't want to read, but something had caught his eye.

_Hey, Artie? You think if the two of us disappeared together anyone would notice? –AFJ_

_Of course they would. You and I are the life of every party, obviously. –AJK_

_Fine but do you think they'd __care__? –AFJ_

_I'm sure someone would. Your dad, my grandmother. We matter to them. –AJK_

_Is that enough to keep someone from disappearing though? The love of just two people? –AFJ_

_Three. –AJK_

_Huh? –AFJ_

_Three for us both. For you, it's your dad, my grandmother, and me. For me, it would be my grandmother, your dad, and you. Three is a big enough group to keep something going. –AJK_

_I wasn't talking about us right then dumbass I was being hypothetical. –AFJ_

_Of course you were. –AJK_

Matthew wasn't sure what to think. He didn't know what his brother meant by "disappearing," and he didn't know how he felt about Arthur's – he assumed "AJK" was Arthur, anyway – responses, how he'd gone along with what Al was saying and didn't try to diffuse the situation before it snowballed out of control.

The note was crumpled, and the words, written in pencil, were smudged and faded. Matthew imagined that Alfred sat in his bed and read that particular note to himself over and over for years. Had Arthur said _anything_ to _anyone _about Al's strange thoughts? Maybe if he had, things would have turned out differently.

Determined to get to the bottom of everything, Matthew turned his attention to his brother's boyfriend.

Matthew's father could answer most of his questions. Arthur James Kirkland was a year and a few months older than Al, twenty and out of high school at the time of Al's death. Born overseas in England, his parents had sent him to live with his grandmother in Minnesota when he was nine or so, though Robert hadn't said why, if he even knew to begin with.

After meeting in summer school, Al and Arthur had been mostly inseparable. Arthur was apparently the first person Alfred allowed himself to get close to after the divorce, and if Arthur wasn't at school or taking care of his grandmother, he was at the Jones's household.

Robert went on and on about how Arthur livened up the place, forced Al to spend time out of his room and doted on him completely, and that it was a shame he didn't come around anymore, even if Al was gone. After a while, Matthew grew tired of hearing about it and avoided asking more questions about Arthur, grateful as well as annoyed that the man had been there for Alfred when Matthew was not.

* * *

Matthew stayed in Minnesota for months. Al's funeral was in March, and by the time their shared birthday rolled around in July, Matthew was still staying with his dad, still trying to figure out what went wrong in Al's small world.

He woke up that morning to a hand on his shoulder, curled up in Al's sheets and holding tight to his own stuffed polar bear. It was his dad, whispering to him that it was early, he was leaving for work, and that Matthew's mom was on the phone for him. It wasn't a particularly amazing start to his nineteenth birthday, but Matthew supposed he would've woken up on his own soon enough anyway and followed his dad downstairs and into the kitchen.

Robert made breakfast while Matthew talked to Caroline and then Jordan, ignoring their comments about how much school he'd missed and assuring them that he'd be home soon enough before saying goodbye. Matthew spent the majority of the day by himself, meandering about the house and making sure to avoid the upstairs bathroom as he always did.

His dad thought it was weird that Matthew insisted on sleeping in Alfred's room but wouldn't even wash his hands in that bathroom. Maybe it was odd, but to Matthew, that room was his last link to his brother, the place where he'd spent most of his time. The teenager knew he was grasping at straws at that point, but what else could he do?

Later on in the afternoon, he was flipping through channels on the television when a knock sounded at the door. He contemplated getting up to answer it, didn't want to frighten someone else with his appearance, but the knocking only got louder the longer Matthew stayed seated. Sighing in defeat, the nineteen-year-old stood up and headed for the door.

Arthur Kirkland was waiting just beyond the mahogany door, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of the jacket he was wearing, despite the fact that it was a warm, summer day. Matthew's shoulders slumped slightly. "What are you… doing here?"

It was true that Arthur hadn't shown up once in all the months since Al's death, and Matthew couldn't help but wonder, why now? "Today is your birthday." Arthur said easily enough, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that the face of his dead boyfriend was staring back at him. "So, happy birthday."

Matthew blinked in surprise. "Al told you about me?"

"Of course he did. It's not as if he could forget he had a brother." Arthur scoffed, and he looked so angry for a second that Matthew was vaguely worried the man would lunge at him, but he didn't. "No, he never forgot."

"I didn't think he – " Matthew decided he was doing himself no real favors and shut his mouth, one hand still on the door as he contemplated whether or not to shut the door in Arthur's face. "Never mind. Now, what are you _really_ doing here?"

"I have a gift for you." Arthur said curtly, pulling one hand out of its pocket and offering Matthew what appeared to be a key.

The teenager took it, trying to keep his hand from shaking as he realized what it was he was being offered. "Is this… ?"

"The key to the box underneath his bed." Arthur confirmed, and Matthew found it odd that Arthur was refusing to say Alfred's name outright. Beyond that, Matthew has had a sneaking suspicion that the answers he'd been looking for were trapped inside the confines of the box underneath his brother's bed. It had been agony for him, assuming as such but unable to even open the damn thing. He should've known Alfred had entrusted the key to Arthur. "He gave it to me a few days before he died. I didn't think anything of it, but I suppose I should have."

Matthew nodded absentmindedly, turning the key over in his hands. "Do you know why Al… did what he did?"

Arthur was silent for a time, and when Matthew looked up, it was only to find that the man was staring at him, impressive eyebrows furrowed in something Matthew couldn't determine. "When I met your brother, he wanted only two things out of life." He said eventually, the look in his eyes almost apologetic although he still looked like he wanted to choke Matthew. "To see you again, and to die."

Matthew opened his mouth, and while he hadn't planned on saying anything – because what could he say? – Arthur was quick to continue. "Of course, after I was through with him, dying was the last thing he wanted to do. I hadn't considered the fact that he might kill himself for years until Robert told me what happened, and suddenly everything made sense.

"But don't you dare think for a second that Alfred was born with that desire. It was forced upon him." Arthur said, his words laced with contempt, and any doubts Matthew had that Arthur hated him were gone. Arthur couldn't look at Matthew and see the boyfriend he lost, because he saw no similarities between them, even if they were twins. "He gave everything he had to help and please others until he hadn't a thing left for himself. That's why he's not here right now."

Matthew swallowed, uncomfortable with the accusation that Arthur was throwing his way, barely concealed, but he understood. Many weeks ago, he'd been blinded by his anger and confusion as well and blamed Arthur for what happened. If they'd been so close, why hadn't Arthur seen it? But there, looking at him, Matthew could see that Arthur placed the blame on everyone, including himself.

He looked even more miserable than he did at the funeral, though he seemed to have gotten better at concealing it, hiding everything behind a fury that may never go away; and if he wanted to throw accusations at Matthew, the teenager would let him. Arthur had more of a claim to the person Alfred was than Matthew.

"Did you come over here to look at the box yourself?"

Arthur quirked an eyebrow, looking vaguely annoyed. "I gave it to you, didn't I? I assure you, Matthew, whatever is in that box, I already know about it. There wasn't a thing your brother didn't show or tell me. I'm his living, breathing diary, and I'm giving you that key not because I think you deserve to know what happened to your brother, but because it's what Alfred would have wanted."

Arthur turned to leave then, leaving Matthew in disbelief that his brother would fall in love with a man like that, though he also knew under any normal circumstances, there was probably more to Arthur than what he chose to display. He paused on the sidewalk leading up to the porch, however, turning once more to give Matthew a small smile, so sad, that filled the nineteen-year-old with a sickly sense of foreboding. "I wanted to hate you, but you really don't seem like a bad kid. And I am sorry. By giving you that key, I'm placing the weight of your brother's life on your shoulders."

"Well," Matthew said, closing his left hand around the key Arthur had given him, so tightly his knuckles turned white, "now we can both share the burden."

Matthew closed the door before he did something stupid like start to cry and bolted up to Al's room. He'd contemplated locking the door, but he'd paused in the action, realizing what it would do to his dad if he came home early for whatever reason to find the door locked.

And so Matthew's been sitting on the floor for what feels like hours, staring at the box that he quite suddenly has access to and thinking about everything that's brought him here, to this moment. He has very few tears left to cry after all these months, though his head starts to hurt as he continues to stare down at the box.

Eventually, he puts the key in the lock.

Pictures. Matthew looks at them and vaguely sees the blur of whoever is in them, too transfixed by the one imagine that he _can _see. It's the photo on top, cut in half, Alfred and Robert on one side of the divide with Matthew and Caroline on the other. Matthew thinks they're maybe seven in the picture, at the zoo in front of a penguin exhibit.

He actually remembers that day, how he'd flushed in embarrassment when his mom flagged down some random stranger to take a picture of the four of them. Al took everything in stride, soaking up the attention like a sponge, and his expression doesn't look half as displeased as Matthew's.

On any other day, Matthew would smile at the photo fondly, but not when it's cut like this, one half in each hand. It hits him then how separated they all were, and how Alfred must have seen their family all these years. It seems as if Al was trying to cut Matthew and their mom out of the picture completely.

But as Matthew looks back to the box and all the other pictures within it, he makes a startling realization. There's a picture of them at the hospital, their mother staring tiredly at a camera with a crying baby in one arm… and a hole where a second baby should've been. Matthew honestly can't tell if he's the one missing or Alfred, but as he continues to dig, he finds a pattern.

Their fifth birthday party. Again, a twin is cut out, but this time Matthew can tell that Alfred's form is the one missing, not his own.

Thanksgiving at their grandparents' house. Matthew sees two fingers forming rabbit ears behind his head, but the hand and arm they're connected to, the entire body, is gone.

Christmases, school functions, random shots around their house in Chicago. Every picture they ever took as a family, and Alfred cut himself out of every one.

Matthew doesn't know what to make of this, can't remember how to breathe, and he stares at the pictures that form a circle around him through eyes that can't focus on any of them. He suddenly feels what Al must have felt, unloved and unwanted, looking at the pictures of their past and unable to find his place in it. It's suffocating, and Matthew desperately wants a way out, but he'll see this through to the end, owes Al this and so much more.

He digs through all the pictures – sometimes Al hadn't even bothered to cut out his image and instead used a sharpie to scratch himself out – and finds a leather-bound journal and Al's previously uncovered cell phone along with its charger underneath all the clutter.

Matthew lifts the journal up and out, worn and torn and used to its full capacity. It seems as if Al created a hard copy of the entries stored within Arthur. He wonders if Arthur really did know what was inside Al's box, is sitting around laughing at the misery he must know that Matthew is in, but the teenager decides that's irrelevant as he unbinds the journal and starts to read.

* * *

_October 3, 2010_

_Dear Bullshit Diary,_

_I'm only doing this because my therapist is watching me and she wants me to write at least one sentence. She's an idiot and so is this assignment. Writing will fix absolutely nothing. _

_Insert Name Here  
_

* * *

_October 25, 2010_

_Dear Diary,_

_Maybe this isn't as dumb as I thought since I'm back and all. I'm just bored and Dad said it might do me some good. I don't normally listen to him about this stuff but he seemed pretty worried. I guess he has every right to be…Whatever. I'm done._

_Alfred_

* * *

_January 14, 2011_

_Dear Diary,_

_Dad has Mom's new home phone number but he never told me. I'm not even mad really. Just kinda…yeah I'm mad. Pissed actually. He tries so hard to regulate everything I do ever since my dumb therapist told him that I admitted to wanting to kill myself a few times. I'd never actually do it. I don't know why they got so upset about it._

_But yep. I saw the number with Mom's name above it, and I got curious, so I decided to call. Just to see what would happen. A man picked up. He said his name was Jordan Williams and asked me who I was. I didn't know what to tell him, so I hung up. I asked Dad about it. He told me Mom remarried a few years back._

_Did she not want me to know or did Dad decide not to tell me on his own? I guess I'll never know. I don't really care enough to ask him. _

_He did say Mattie took the guy's last name though. So I'm a Jones and he's a Williams. He has been for a while apparently. We may look alike but are we still brothers? Don't know why I'm asking you. It's not like you can talk back._

_Alfred_

* * *

_May 15, 2011_

_Dear Diary,_

_Guess what? I have to go to summer school. Fucking summer school! I'm not looking forward to this at all. It's going to be at the high school I'm going to next year for whatever reason. I guess it's because I failed my math and science classes this year. Dad asked a lot of questions because those used to be my favorite subjects, but I can't really tell him I didn't bother to turn my homework in and I just don't really care about school anymore._

_I hate going there. I don't want to do anything. My therapist says that's a sign of depression, losing interest in stuff. She wants me to tell her why I'm sad. But I can't. She'd tell me to get over it like Dad did when I told him I missed Matthew. He apologized and told me he didn't mean it, that he was having a bad day, and I told him I forgave him._

_I lied._

_Alfred_

* * *

_June 2, 2011_

_Dear Diary,_

_So summer school actually isn't that awful. The teacher is nice and lets me listen to my ipod when I'm doing homework. My teacher during the school year wouldn't let me do that. The kid that sits next to me is kinda...weird. I tried to talk to him, and I don't normally do that so he should've considered himself lucky, but he ignored me. His eyebrows kinda look like caterpillars, and when he did talk, he had a British accent. He wasn't talking to me or anything, but I pretended that he was. It's been a really long time since someone actually tried to start up a conversation with me aside from Dad, Grandma, or Aunt Jessica._

_Alfred_

* * *

_June 7, 2011_

_Dear Diary,_

_I called Mom's house again over the weekend. She picked up this time instead of her new husband, but when I heard her voice, I started crying and hung up. It was the first time I'd heard her voice in almost seven years. She didn't call back. I wonder if they have caller ID or if they knew it was me. Do you think she'd call back if she knew it was me? I don't. _

_Alfred_

* * *

_June 8, 2011_

_Dear Diary,_

_The funniest thing happened today at summer school. I found out the kid who sits next to me is named Arthur. I kept calling him Artie to see if he'd respond, but he didn't react. BUT then I called him Iggy, and he tried to punch me! It was hilarious! The teacher didn't notice because he was helping some other kid, but Arthur nearly fell out of his seat when I dodged the hit. _

_You know, I don't have any friends. I hate talking to people, but I kinda wanted to talk to Arthur badly. I told him so once he pulled himself together. He just glared at me and told me to never call him Iggy again._

_I think he wants a friend too._

_Alfred_

* * *

_September 2, 2011_

_Dear Diary,_

_Wow, I didn't write in you the rest of the summer. Guess I have a lot to fill you in on. (Look at me, talking to you like you're a real person. I think I have gone a little crazy.) Well, Arthur's my friend now. I don't know how to do this whole friend thing. Arthur says he doesn't either, but I know for a fact that he has other people to hang out with aside from me. I only have him. _

_We eat lunch together at school, we walk to and from the classes we share together—which aren't a lot because he's a sophomore and I'm a freshman—but it's fun anyway. He made me talk to a few of his other friends even though I didn't want to. I almost cried, but he told me I had nothing to be afraid of, and I believed him. They were nice. Aside from that Francis guy, they were all pretty cool. _

_Arthur asked me why I didn't want to make friends. He said I wouldn't have any trouble because I'm nice and I care a lot. I was kinda shocked. No one's said that to me since I was little. I wonder what would Arthur say if I told him that I don't care enough. _

_Alfred_

* * *

_November 11, 2011_

_Dear Diary,_

_I didn't go to school today. Things got bad. I called Mom's house like I usually do, but when she picked up, she was really mad and told me to quit harassing their family. She was the one who hung up this time. Of course, she didn't know it was me since I never say anything when I call, but I still took it personally. _

_I started scratching my arms because I didn't know what else to do. I bled a little, but it didn't bother me, and I went to bed. When Dad woke me up in the morning, I told him I didn't feel good and he said I could stay home. He saw the scratches, and I told him the neighbor's cat is a dick who doesn't recognize how awesome I am. He laughed and left to get ready for work. _

_Our neighbors don't have cats._

_Alfred_

* * *

_February 3, 2012_

_Dear Diary,_

_Arthur hasn't spoken to me in days. He's mad at me for something, and I don't know what I did. I can't socialize without him as my buffer, so I hate going to school again. I don't know what to do. I can't take having any more people be mad at me, especially when I don't know what I did to deserve it. It's weird. I never had problems with this stuff before, talking to people and making friends. Now my stomach starts to churn just from the thought of going to the store or doing a group project at school.  
_

_I must have done something when I was a kid, kicked a puppy or ignored a homeless person or something. Karma or God is trying to get back at me for whatever it was, and I don't think they're gonna stop until I don't have anything left. I wish Mattie were here. He always knew what to say to make me feel better. He would understand, I think. He always did. But I think he hates me. He's never tried to speak with me since that day I left with Dad._

_I haven't spoken to him either, but it's because I literally can't. I freeze when Mom answers the phone when I call. I can't speak no matter how hard I try, the words just get stuck in my throat. I want to tell them I do love them. I didn't know who I was going to stay with, but when I ran after Dad to beg him not to leave, Mom closed the door on me. Did she not want me there? I used to think she liked Mattie more than me. Maybe she did want me gone, and the divorce was just her way of getting rid of me. Maybe she does know it's me on the phone, and when she tells me to stop calling she really is speaking to the son she moved to another country just to get away from._

_I'm really starting to feel sick now. I think I'll try that scratching thing again. God needs some help with the whole punishing process. _

_Alfred_

* * *

_February 17, 2012_

_Dear Diary,_

_Arthur wasn't mad at me. He was trying to work up the nerve to say that he was gay for me. He told me as much at school, and I just stared at him for a while before I punched him in the nose and walked the fuck away. He made me worry for absolutely nothing! I isolated myself at school for no goddamn reason, and it's his stupid fault. GAH I'm so fucking mad at him! But it's hard to ignore his calls because I'm pretty gay for him too?_

_I think it's the accent. Or the eyes. Or the fact that hanging around him takes my mind off my shitty life more than scratching myself does? Oh, he's calling again. I don't want to answer…but I think I willyepbye!_

* * *

_March 5, 2012_

_Dear Diary,_

_My therapist always says that healthy relationships are based off communication, and that Dad and Mom's marriage failed because they couldn't communicate with one another. I'm pretty terrified of that happening to me, so I told Arthur about everything. I probably shouldn't have, but he didn't try to interrupt me, not even when I showed him the scratch marks on my arms, old and new. _

_Arthur just kinda looked at me like I was a wounded dog or some shit. I normally hate that, but it's okay when he does it. Marginally. He told me that I do matter, that my family doesn't hate me, and that I don't deserve every sadness in the world. I don't think I believe him. I want to, I really do, but I've been telling myself for so long that there must have been something wrong with me, something that a mother and a brother couldn't love. _

_I've been thinking that since I was eight. I can't stop it, and I told Arthur that. He said that he'll make up for it, that he'll love me enough to make up for everyone who can't see what's right in front of them. Arthur acts like a douche most of the time, but he's so sweet I'm almost embarrassed for him._

_He's ridiculous. I don't want to love him the way he seems to love me. I didn't even want to agree to be his boyfriend, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I promised myself a while ago that I wouldn't date because I didn't want to end up like my parents. I'm not afraid to admit that I wouldn't be able to handle the heartbreak. _

_But…I find myself wanting to try now. __Arthur__ makes me want to try._

_Alfred_

* * *

_March 12, 2013_

_Dear Diary,_

_It's been a year, you useless thing you. But guess what? I'm a junior now! AND IT FUCKING SUCKS. Seriously, I have no time to myself anymore. At least it's almost over and I'll be a senior in a few months. I got a bit overwhelmed today and decided to get my ears pierced after school. Kiku and Ivan wanted to come with me, and Arthur came along just to see for himself if I'd actually go through with it. I did, so take that, you British bastard!_

_My ears still sting a little. I wonder what Dad will say when he gets home. I mean, I won't care, and I'm not letting the holes close, but I'm just…curious. He lets me get away with a lot of stuff. I started smoking, and he asked to borrow a cigarette. I still scratch myself, and he STILL thinks our neighbors' nonexistent cat does it EVERY. TIME._

_I feel like I'm shouting into a crowded room where no one can hear or see me. Everyone but Arthur. He turns around every time. He looks at me. He sees what I am and what I do, and he loves me anyway. I'll probably never get used to that, or the look that appears in his eyes when he thinks I don't notice him watching me. I like being someone's everything. I like having someone to shout at._

_Alfred_

* * *

_July 1, 2013_

_Dear Diary,_

_I'm not a virgin anymore. I mean, I didn't consider myself one before because Arthur seems to have some addiction to fingering me when I'm trying to do homework but THAT is irrelevant. But yeah. The whole dick and ass thing. It happened._

_No thanks to Arthur! Dad was at work and I was trying to seduce him ALL NIGHT, the idiot. I didn't want to be a virgin on my eighteenth birthday, so I figured, what the hay? He didn't make it easy, though. I wouldn't let him leave to find something to use as lube, so he said he didn't want to hurt me or whatever. Usually I'd find that charming, but at that point I just wanted him. I felt like a damn crazy person._

_I told him if he didn't fuck me, I'd just find someone else who would. He got kind of angry and pushed me off his lap. I landed on the floor, but then he pushed me over onto my stomach and gave me what I asked for. The strange thing? I loved every second of it. Ivan and Kiku are always saying I'm a masochist, but Arthur and I know that it goes somewhat deeper than that. _

_Physical pain is easier to deal with than emotional pain, and I seek it out whenever I can. It was somewhat of an experiment at the time, but once we were finished, I realized that the raw, desperate, angry sex that we had was far more distracting than scratching myself ever was. Arthur was really apologetic afterwards when he saw that he made me bleed, but I didn't really care. I told him how I felt about the whole thing once I figured out what I wanted to say. Arthur just shook his head and said, "So long as you stop hurting yourself, I'll have sex with you whenever, wherever, and however you want it for the rest of our lives."_

_Arthur gets it. He's always known there's no cat, and he knew I wouldn't have gone looking for someone else.  
_

_Alfred_

* * *

_August 15, 2013_

_Dear Diary,_

_I met Arthur's grandma today. Her name is Rose, and she's the cutest old lady I've ever met. She has green eyes like Arthur, and he dotes on her so much it's almost comical. She asked him to go find her cane so she could stand up and he left me alone with her without a thought._

_While he was gone, she asked me lots of questions. What I wanted to do with my life, what my hobbies were, whether or not I loved Arthur as much as he loved me. I haven't even told Arthur yet, but I admitted it to his grandma, that I love Arthur more than I ever believed I'd ever love anybody. I honestly haven't cared for someone this much since Matthew, but that was different, obviously. _

_And I do love Arthur. I want to do everything with him until the end of time. I want to watch him do his homework and ATTEMPT to make me romantic dinners. I want to teach him how to swim, and not because he'll have to cling to me while wet, though that is a nice bonus. I want to…travel the world with him and get matching tattoos, wear each other's clothes and face every hardship together._

_When I told Rose all that—minus a few details—I realized that I want to live again. For Arthur, really, but also for myself. He did this for me. He made me want to wake up every morning. He gave me the means to make my own friends and branch out into the world again. _

_Can gay couples get married in Minnesota? I don't even know, but I'm gonna find out. If not, we're fucking moving, because I want to marry him. And I want to take his last name. I'm not a Jones and I haven't been for years. Maybe I was always meant to be a Kirkland, I don't know. If all this shit happened to get me closer to Arthur, then I'll thank God or karma or whatever asshole decided to fuck with my life. I'll take it. I'll take Arthur._

_Arthur couldn't find Rose's cane. She'd had it all along. The crafty old woman just wanted to get me alone for a while. I think I love her, too. I think I'm capable of loving again._

_Alfred_

* * *

_October 13, 2013_

_Dear Diary,_

_Arthur graduated last year, and school is hell without him, but I'll survive. Ivan told me his sisters are visiting from Russia, and that made me think about Mattie for the first time in months. I still call their house sometimes, hoping that he'll be the one to answer for a change. I guess I'm just not lucky. _

_Alfred_

* * *

_December 2, 2013_

_Dear Diary,_

_My grades are starting to slip again. I don't know what's going on. I thought I was doing better, but all the progress I've made over the past few months is just slipping through my fingers. Maybe it's because I don't see Arthur as much. He works a lot, so I usually only see him on the weekends. We don't have sex as often, so I started scratching myself again. _

_I'm too scared to reach for something better, bigger, that maybe helps as well as Arthur does. I'm proud of myself in that respect. Some part of me is still salvageable. I just…don't know which part._

_Alfred_

* * *

_January 5, 2014_

_Dear Diary,_

_Dad found my report card even though I tried to hide it. He told me I needed to start taking things seriously if I ever wanted to go anywhere in life. I wanted to tell him that I literally __can't__, but I just told him I was sorry and that I'd try harder. I texted Arthur afterward and told him that I thought I was dying. I really do. It feels like my soul is slowly draining away most days. He didn't respond, but twenty minutes passed and then I heard footsteps on the stairs._

_He always comes running when I call. I know he always will, that he wants to go everywhere with me, just as I want to with him, but I feel bad knowing that someone as good as Arthur fell in love with someone like me. He deserves better, I think. But like hell I'm letting him go. He knows everything about me. And I know everything about him. _

_But I won't tell you about his life. He trusts me with everything he is, and I won't betray that. It's the only thing I can do. Sorry, old friend. The only misery you'll ever witness is mine._

_Alfred_

* * *

_February 14, 2014_

_Dear Diary,_

_I called Mom's house again. It went straight to voice mail. I think they blocked my number._

_Alfred_

* * *

_February 15, 2014_

_Dear Diary,_

_Arthur once told me that the love of three people is all a person needs to keep their memory alive. I'm not so sure. _

_Alfred_

* * *

_February 17, 2014_

_Dear Diary,_

_I'm really tired. I stayed in bed all day today, so why is that? It's not physical exhaustion, really. I'm just mentally tired in every way. I tried to fight this for Arthur, but I don't know if I can keep doing it. I think he'd move on eventually if something happened to me. I'd want him to. He doesn't deserve to be alone forever. God, I love him so much. Will I remember that if I die?_

_Alfred_

* * *

_February 26, 2014_

_Dear Diary,_

_I think this is my last entry. Or…it will be if everything goes according to plan. I don't really have a plan, I'm just gonna wing it and see what happens. YOLO, right? Actually, in this case, it should be YODO (You Only Die Once). Not funny? Yeah, I didn't laugh either._

_So, what do I say? This is my last will and testament kinda. I was looking back over my old entries before, and I realized I never really told you how this all started. The diary thing, I mean. Well, my teacher in seventh grade asked me how many people were in my family. I told her I didn't have a family. She contacted my dad, and he put me in therapy. So, there you have it. Even in grade school, I understood how worthless I was and that no one wanted me, not even my family. _

_I'm actually not as afraid as I thought I'd be. I found my dad's razors in his bathroom, so they're just waiting for me to get a move on. I just… I kinda want to talk to Mattie one last time. It's been ten years since I saw him last. I wonder if he ever toughened up. I used to fight with kids who picked on him in school. Mom always praised me for defending him. That's the one and only thing I was ever any good at: protecting my brother._

_I just want to hug my brother again. I want to see him look at me the way he used to, like I was the hero I always wanted to be. I can't save myself, but I always wanted to save him. I wanted to save Mom and Dad, too, their marriage and the love we all had for one another, once. I guess I don't plan to end it for a few days, so I could always try to call Mattie with Dad's phone, but I doubt I'll work up the nerve to do it. Even now, when I have absolutely nothing to lose, I'm still a damn coward. Some hero, right?_

_I'm gonna give Arthur the key to my box today. I don't know if he'll see through me, see what I'm going to do, and I hope he doesn't. He usually gets what I'm trying to say, and I always loved that about him, but this time, I don't want him to hear me. I want him to remain as ignorant as everyone else, and I don't want him to blame himself when/if he does. He did all he could. Really, he did. These past few years have been mostly fun for me, and it's all because of him. _

_Since I'm giving you the key, Artie, you could easily be reading this right now. I'm not mad if you are. Well, at this point, I'm probably dead, so I guess it doesn't…okay, no. Sorry, I won't do this to you. I do love you, you know, and I'm sorry for leaving you alone in this life, but I can't do it anymore. I wanted to experience everything with you, and I feel like I have, even if we've never left this town together. I just…want this, babe, I really do. I want to free you and myself from the burden that is my life. And that's my decision, so don't blame yourself, okay?_

_I'm gonna ask to top you when I give you the key later. I hope you'll let me. This may be my only chance to give back even a little of the love you've given me. Me, who doesn't know how to love properly. Well, Arthur, just know that Alfred Foster Kirkland—we're married in all the important ways and you fucking know it—loved you with every fiber of his twisted being. I'm sure I'll remember that, wherever I go after._

_This is goodbye to you, too, my diary. I didn't really like you at first, but you've listened dutifully all these years and have taken every beating I ever gave you, every teardrop that dampened your pages. You're a trooper. Don't miss me too much, okay?_

_Alfred_

* * *

Only Al… could hide so much pain behind a smile and joke with an inanimate object like it was a long lost family member; and Matthew is as amused as he is horrified, slamming the journal shut and doubling over in something that's not a laugh or a sob but something definitely in the middle.

The walls he's surrounded by hold so much more meaning now. Alfred clawed at them desperately for so long, screaming and crying for people that never came. Even their dad didn't notice the signs, didn't ask the questions that so obviously needed to be asked, but Matthew thinks he finally understands Robert after living with him for all these weeks.

His dad hates confrontation. During the divorce, he let Caroline run the show and fled the scene when things got difficult. He must have seen the signs at some point, because he sent Alfred to therapy to deal with the separation. Robert must have seen Alfred's behavior and thought it was his way of coping with what had happened, a way to branch out and find himself again after losing everything he ever held dear.

But Matthew is still angry. Alfred called. He was the solicitor their mother had complained about during dinner for countless nights. For _years, _he called continuously and Matthew never picked up the phone. His mom and Jordan did, but all that time, they never knew that the person on the other end wasn't a stranger, not even close, and that they were pushing him toward something dark and awful.

And Alfred let them. He took it all personally, but Matthew can see now that his brother hadn't been able to act any differently. He couldn't help it; it was just how he was, how he'd learned to be after the divorce. Al was always sensitive, though he was good at hiding it. Better than Matthew anyway.

Matthew feels almost nothing but overwhelming despair after reading his brother's diary, something akin to survivor's guilt, for he was the twin that came out of the divorce somewhat unscathed. He never reached out to Al, at first out of childish ignorance and then because it was just easier; but if he'd called, if he'd spoken with Alfred even once, could he have saved him?

In the end, he'll never know if the outcome could have been different. Matthew will go to bed tonight, and when he wakes up, Al will still be gone. He won't be coming back. It seems real now, as if seeing everything through Al's eyes validated his death somehow.

Matthew sighs, setting the journal aside and reaching into the box again to grab his brother's phone and charger. He's not sure why, but he plugs the charger into the wall and starts to charge the phone, wonders if he'll find anything else to remember Al by. He sits and waits, and when the screen flares to life, a few seconds pass before the phone vibrates, signaling an alert.

Matthew blinks in confusion and picks up the phone. There's only one message, sent two days after Alfred died.

**British Gentleman**

**Alfred, so long as you stay where I can find you, I'll love you whenever, wherever, and however you want for the rest of my life and every moment after.**

And Matthew feels like Alfred is there with him, smiling over his shoulder as he reads the text, laughing because he'd somehow known that Arthur wouldn't give up the burden of his life for anything, not even if it was Alfred's dying wish.


End file.
